The Thumbnail Book Reviews
by John Q McDonald --- 17 May 2023
by Burkhard Bilger
Recently, a friend exploring her family tree discovered that an ancestor of hers had owned a slave. The discovery, for her, changed her family's moral profile. She wasn't directly complicit in one of the greatest crimes in American history, but there was a lingering generational guilt she had not previously experienced.
Exploring one's family history is full of potential surprises. Thus, around about the same time, long time New Yorker staff writer Burkhard Bilger began to uncover the truths about his own grandfather, a low level functionary in the German Nazi regime through World War 2. The initial reaction is one of quiet dismay. The question arose, what kind of Nazi was Karl Gönner? Was he the Nazi of Hogan's Heroes or of Schindler's List? Was he the Nazi of Raiders of the Lost Ark or of Valkyrie? (Forgive all the TV and movie references. Our one common way of experiencing Nazis in 2023 is through the media.) Was he a willing participant in the greatest crime of the 20th century, or was he dragged along by circumstance, a lowly German citizen playing along just to survive? Was it some subtle combination of all of these? Could Karl have been a human being with complex feelings and perspectives, like all of us? And what is the risk of humanizing a Nazi? Do we risk minimizing the crimes? And for Bilger and his family, what does it mean for inherited guilt, and the secrets closely kept for generations? That's a lot of questions for one book to answer, but Bilger is a highly skilled story-teller. He has made a career of finding key moments in the lives of his subjects, and the human elements that make them do the sorts of things they do. Turning his attention to his family history, the result is a stunningly beautifully written work of personal exploration, cultural history, and even hope.
In then end, we might find that the humanity of Nazis and their crimes is the humanity of all of us, our capabilities and complicities. These are questions vitally relevant in a 21st century witnessing an alarming rise in right-wing movements all over the world. Not to mention the numerous brutal and genocidal regimes that have arisen over the decades since the fall of Nazi Germany.
Through what must have been a gruelling and thorough search for historical documents relating to his grandfather, originating in the discovery of a number of letters from citizens of an occupied French Alsatian town, Bilger pieces together Karl's life, from World War 1 veteran, to school teacher to head of the Nazi party in Bartenheim, an occupied village in what was then, and now, France. As such, it was Karl's responsibility to enforce the local rules descended upon him from central command. But, who was Karl? Was he an authoritarian true believer? Was he driven by the same hatreds and drive for control? Or was he one willing to bend the rules, let the local folk off the hook? Perhaps he could be a little of both. What few hard details Bilger can find he fleshes out with a powerfully drawn portrait of Karl's context, the histories of Alsace and Germany and France, life in an impovershed region after World War 1, the broken spirits of war veterans and a country forced to pay paralyzing reparations for that war. But also village life, the patterns of farming and forestry, childhood and old age. Bilger writes with incredible sense for relevant detail. He also brings a riveting compassion to his subject, and the rough times through which he lived. That doesn't mean he is likely to let him off the hook for whatever crimes he committed, or those he tolerated in the name of Nazi ideology. Bilger's gaze is compassionate, but unremitting. He works, to a large extent, with his mother, whose memories guide him, and whose deep recollections of her childhood unlock some of the mysteries. It is all an honest search for meaning in Karl's life and his legacy. Is there such a thing as a "reasonable" Nazi? Is that something we're willing to contemplate? We're accustomed to needing black and white answers to good and evil, and it is never so simple. We yet contain the capacity for both. The Nazis were in no way an isolated upwelling of terror as any honest accounting of the past century will reveal. If we're to go forward, we need to understand that humanity is anything but good or evil, but more good and evil. Weirdly, there's hope in that.